


And One Fell Out

by StarlightCaptivator



Series: Knightfall [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe- Class Swap, Canon-Typical Violence, Functionalism, Gen, Multi, Other, Past Character Death, Sparklings, dumpster sparklings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightCaptivator/pseuds/StarlightCaptivator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swap AU- Knight Drift has a chance encounter with a brilliant microscope streetmech and finds himself fascinated. </p><p>Tags, characters, pairings and warnings will be updated as we go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

By no stretch of the imagination was Drift _any_  sort of fool. He was a warrior well in his prime, a master of blaster and blade and deadly with both, merited as an elite knight for his skill and knowledge. 

He was prepared for anything. He was even prepared for the distrusting, hungry eyes staring at him from dirty, darkened alleys. He was not prepared, when a pair of hands firmly grasped his upper arm and yanked him aside into a derelict building. His vorns of training kept him from taking the hands of the youngster off right then - he didn't sense any sort of mal-intent from the mech. 

The mech - a microscope, he could see now - shut the creaky door and turned on him with bright blue optics unclouded by substance or charge. A rarity for sure around here. 

"Approximately twenty-seven point eight-three-eight mechanometers from your destination today, a group of ne'er-do-wells plan to converge on your location." His voice was soft, sure and clear and he continued. "You are a knight, and even disarmed of your ceremonial weaponry, the hidden blades in your back would afford you a 60 percent chance of victory over your potential attackers today." 

_That_  suddenly focused Drift's attention in sharper. Very few knew about those blades, fewer yet outside the cadre of knights. "Word on the street is that they got their hands on some tainted syk, and there is a whopping eighty percent chance they would use that on you - thus the poor victory statistic." 

 Drift couldn't help but stare in awe at the young mech as he began to rattle on about _how_  he had figured out what was to happen today and go into depth about the equations used for such an endeavor. Drift took in his appearance as he spoke, noting scuffs and painful dents, his lens housing was on at what looked to be a slightly unnatural and painful angle. Cracks in a glass chest-plate were patched with rudimentary adhesive strips. Drift couldn't tell if his grays were gray or gray from dirt on the mech's face and legs and arms. He was obviously underfed, and obviously quick as a petrorabbit as he snapped out of his equations and tensed when he realized Drift was giving him a once-over. 

 "A-Ah..." His optics darted quickly away from Drift and then back again, likely to his escape route. His voice took on a slightly higher pitch, a tremble. "E-Every week you take a deviation in path. You have four preferred paths, i-if I remember correctly? If you continue on your path from last week, you will avoid them entirely." And then he was off, giving the Knight a wide berth, out of any potential grabbing range if Drift held still.

 Hold still Drift did, if with a bit of a wince at realizing how his staring probably looked to the young streetmech, how it looked coming from someone like him. Drift took a deep vent, even in the dusty air, and counted to ten before moving. He wanted to allow the young microscope the feeling of safety - if he was still watching him. 

 The knight made his way back out into Dead End after his gathering moment, and headed for The Den. 

 Ratchet wasn't happy to see him, but he never was when they met in this setting. The medic was older than him by vorns and too visible in the right places to be touched, but it didn't mean there wasn't a danger for every shiny pede that stepped through his clinic's door. Drift always sweetened the deal by bringing something needed: non-addictive painkillers, badly needed patches, and repair items easy to access by the better off mech always came out of his subspace when he came in. He never came with questions. 

 Until now. 

 "I was accosted by someone today on my way here." He started, and Ratchet paused in his work on someone just for a second to cast a critical eye in Drift's direction before turning back to his patching. 

 "Did you leave enough of them in one piece for me to put back together?" He asked gruffly and Drift frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. 

 "No fighting happened. He pulled me aside to warn me about coming here. Or leaving here rather. Looked young, but fully grown. Looked to be a microscope? Has a lot of red, some black? Do you know him?" 

 Ratchet gave him the fuzzy optic at that. He _hated_  it when anyone not from around Dead End or the slightly wider Polyhexan area came calling about the mechs he had seemingly appointed himself protector over. Most disappeared when people came asking about them, and not for the better. Drift left his hands in the universal signal for 'I mean no harm'. "I just want to know his name. If what he said is true, then I'll owe him a thank you." 

 The mech Ratchet was working on looked between them and appeared to want to say something, but the fuzzy optic turned his way clamped his intake right shut. Ratchet made a put out sound and vent to show his displeasure. "I'll tell you what, Drift. Next week when you barge in here, tell me how your journey went. Then I _might_  tell you." Drift's expression lit up with a fangy smile. It was more than he expected from the medic and he let that show plainly. 

 "I thank you, noble medic- butIreallymustbegoing!" Ratchet was reaching for the nearest spanner, he had his shoulders up like he was about to let out a bellow, but Drift waved good-naturedly and ducked out before he could be adorned with a new helm-dent. The last time, his finial had been knocked into an impressive 90 **°** angle and smarted for _days_  after it had been repaired. 

 He stepped out into the day with the mystery microscope's words on his mind. He glanced the way he had planned to go, and the way he had gone the week prior. A mischievous thought thread wormed it's way through his processor as he looked at the low-slung buildings between. 

 A compromise could be reached. 

* * *

Ratchet sanded the last edge of the patch down, and helped his patient up. The big green mech still looked troubled. Pits, Ratchet still felt troubled himself over what his interloping Knight friend had said. "Springer...?" He started, but the young triple-changer shook his helm, mouth set in a grim line. 

 "Don't worry Doc, I'll talk to him." 

* * *

 

Five mecha.

 Three blasters, two nasty looking knives, and one injection pack. 

One of the mecha with a blaster had the injection, he was placed far too strategically to be waiting for anything other than an ambush. The microscope had been right.

Drift watched from above as they waited patiently for him and an indulgent smile flowed it's way across his faceplates. It had been a long, _long_  time since he any chance like this, to let loose. He wouldn't of course - not fully. It would be so _easy_  to drop out of the sky and cut them all to ribbons and blast them all to seared components, but he didn't have that bloodlust and that _rage_  anymore, and so it didn't need to be sated. 

No, he'd teach these mecha a lesson they wouldn't be wont to forget anytime soon. 

He drew his sword and selected a couple of smooth pieces of debris from the roof he was crouching on. 

One cleansing vent cycle, another in, and he dropped with a kiai. 

The first two mecha didn't even know what hit them. 

Literally.

They were both out cold before they even hit the ground, bludgeoned by rock and pommel. The other three were startled into stillness, and Drift had no hesitation in doming the other two mecha in the confusion with the rocks on right after the other, and as they fell his sword sluiced upwards through air. His blaster was drawn and he shot from the hip. The last mech found his hands scorched and empty, and a third firing from Drift's blaster rendered the syk destroyed before it had a chance to hit ground. He caught the sword in the opposite hand from where it started.

Drift straightened up with sword held reverse in one hand and his blaster still trained in the other. "Do we have an issue?" He asked, voice pleasant, sharp fangs gleaming in his smile. The mech stared at him with his visor blown bright, he shook his head slowly, hands splayed out and up. Drift canted his head to one side, stance shifting genial. "Ah, good. Let's not start having one. Give your friends my regards when they wake." He stowed his blaster and sheathed his sword, and with a last meaningful look at the gun on the ground at the conscious mech's feet, he turned and went his on way with a purposeful stride. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have another multi-chapter fic that's been kicking around waiting for me to put out the first chapter. Not gonna lie, I'm really hyped up for this fic. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Springer was diligent in always putting variation into his path home. He flared out his armor just a little bit to make his big frame look just a little bigger and kept a gleam in his optics that encouraged trouble away. He was just on the verge of being old enough to be considered an adult, but luckily for him and his small family, those employing menial labor didn't really care about make date as long the mecha in question weren't clumsy or slow. 

A last glance around satisfied his paranoia, and he slipped inside the little hidden entrance to his place of residence. He carefully fitted the first door back into place once inside, and let out a soft couple of whistles to alert the mecha that were hopefully there of his presence. It wasn't but a couple kliks and a couple steps later that a little green-grey bundle of wire and metal launched at his shin plating. 

In one fell swoop, the youngling was under his arm, screeching and giggling - softly, as he knew he had to be quiet in this part of the building. Springer shuttled the young mech through their little maze and back into the space he shared with the others. _The Wreckers_  one mech long missed had named them, back when Spinger was barely knee-high himself. Kup wriggled himself half-free, and Springer set him on the floor so he could run off and 'report' to Perceptor before likely going back on 'patrol' with Broadside. 

True to form, Perceptor was standing up from his spot perched at the Energon extractor when Springer got to him, and Kup was making tracks for their youngest companion. He took in Springer's expression and gave him a wan smile. "Welcome home, you're back early." 

Springer crossed his arms over his chest plate. "You talked to the shiny knife guy today." He stated, and whatever denial the microscope was about to give him died in his throat in a soft, displeased hum at his tone. "I thought we agreed that after... what happened, we weren't going to be talking to anyone with a shiny aft anymore." Perceptor's look of displeasure deepened at Springer's language but he didn't reprimand him for it.

"He was going to be _attacked,_ Springer. I couldn't just stand by and let it happen." His stance was set, expression too - he looked Springer right in his optics. Perceptor wasn't one for posturing but he knew just as the rest of them did... _had_... how to use his body to convey his point. 

 Springer tried a different angle. "You left Kup and Broadside all alone while you were chasing this mech's tailpipe?" That earned him a rare sneer from the microscope, his soft voice developed a note of scorn for such an implication. 

 "Of _course_ not, what do you take me for? I took them with me." He crossed his arms over his cracked chestplate, looking well defiant as Springer gaped at him. "I told them we were on mission, and that it was of utmost importance to remain as quiet as possible. They performed admirably." He eyed Springer for a microklik before adding "He didn't even know they were there with me." He twisted momentarily to produce a dingy quarter-cube of low-grade and present it as an unspoken peace offering. Springer was always hungry. One wasn't a triple-changer his size and situation without dealing with that constant fact. 

 "Plus, I told them that if my suspicions were wrong and the knight attempted something... untoward... they were to beat pede back here as fast as possible and hide to wait for you and Roadbuster." Springer scowled, taking the cube automatically. 

 "That still put you in more danger than needed, I don't like it." 

 Perceptor gave him an odd look, and his vents wheezed out a whisper of a sigh. "Well Springer, you don't have to like it."  

* * *

 Drift slipped into the citadel under the cover of night, checking over his plating as he went. Scuffs on his pedes could be buffed down to something explainable with a quick go-over with a soft cloth. He was free to roam, as all those of his number were, but his frequent trips into places considered unsavory could bring down unneeded attention to the mecha that live there. 

 There was enough disapproval of him being _from_  the Dead End in the first place, despite how long ago that was. It was before the newspark scanning systems had begun to be implemented to "ensure healthy coding". Senators with functionalist and more conservative leanings didn't like mecha like _him_  guarding the Prime. 

 If Drift was the reason why enforcers backed by the wrong senators fell upon Dead End, he'd have to worry about a little more than a possible mugging. Not to mention the fact that Ratchet could be a target too, and if something happened to him.... He shuddered as he made his way silently into his spacious living quarters and the attached washrack. 

 Where Drift was just _visible,_  Ratchet was both visible and _important._ Being not only the head of the medical commission, but the Prime's personal physician had that effect. Would The Den fall in retaliation to enforcers cracking down, Drift would be sure Dead End would be razed to the ground. This was all knowldge Drift came across freely without a touch of politics involved. It was horrifying to think what politics _would_ add.

 He didn't envy the knights that had to guard politicians.

 Drift stepped into place at his post right on time, and his partner for the night gave him the side-eye for a moment as one of the Head Knights rounded the corner ahead. He was in perfect attention when the mech reached them and cast critical glances at the pair of them. Drift remained in his posture, one hand clasped over the other over the pommel of his great sword. Perhaps having heard reports, the ranking knight eyed him more warily than his partner before moving on. 

 When they were alone again, Wing spoke. 

 "Alright, what did you do _this time?_ " he asked, squinting even as Drift turned on the innocent cyberpup optics. 

 "Nothing at all, Knight Wing. I had a lovely walk, and a very calm, meditative day." After a klik of silence, he added "Praise Primus." in that same tone. 

 Wing's look continued, though his lips pursed in an overall unsure expression. "Drift...." 

 "Nothing anyone can prove." Wing's expression morphed into open worry, so Drift met it with an assuring smile. "I'm kidding, tell you after shift?" That settled the flier's plating. It wouldn't do to leave his amica-in-court out on such an insignificant secret, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta tell you, toddler Kup? Super fun to write.... As are all of those terrifying implications. :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so here's the deal, that pesky life shit sure has been being pesky, and I've been terribly busy with my coursework and other assorted university things. Come June I will be graduating, s o, the next you'll see this updated is then, unless I get lucky and my work lets up- which I don't think it will. :,D
> 
> This is one of several shaved down updates to my ongoing fic in an effort to get something out as opposed to making you wait until June to see anything at all. Thanks for your patience, and enjoy!

Roadbuster wasn't happy either when he arrived home, but he didn't show it in the same way Springer did. Callous, cocksure words full of fear turned to disapproving glances as Springer tattled on Perceptor. Arms crossed over his chest replaced posturing.

With Springer off in a huff to watch the younglings, he spoke to Perceptor.

"You sure about this guy? " while not often a mech of many words, growing up with and helping to rear the youngster had given Perceptor a precious insight into his personality.

While it was far easier for Roadbuster to solve many of his day to day problems with his fists or bulk, there was an undercurrent of contemplation and thought that belied an intent behind his words and action.

This was no different.

And this situation was no different, should it have to run that way. 

"I am." Perceptor replied. Honestly was always the best policy with this mechling. "He's a knight, the one that brings supplies to The Den. I think that shows he can be trusted. Mostly, at least. I'm no expert predictor of behavior, but there must be a connection to this locale in him." Roadbuster slowly shifted in his stance, watching the junky energon converter slowly drip the low quality energon into the empty cube.

He watched the dully glowing fuel drip for a few tense moments before speaking up again. 

"And if he turns out to be like the enforcers?" Perceptor kept a wince from shuddering through his plating at the mention, and again he was reminded of those lost to them one way or another, starting with the lynch-pin that had kept them from falling apart in the first place in Ironfist. That was a bad stretch that devolved into a nightmare, made their previous living arrangements look and feel like luxury as compared to where they were settled now. 

Perceptor weighed his next words. They could sound like permission, an allowance of something that made him sick to his neglected tanks. " Then we _deal_ with him, if we can. Or hide. Or both." Roadbuster's visor brightened momentarily from the thought, and he nodded his helm in assent. 

"What's he got?" Roadbuster's interest was obvious, even if he politely pretended for the moment that he didn't care, that the thought of combat with one of Cybertron's elite didn't tickle his fancy. He was a young warbuild through and through, but with that good helm on his shoulders and an ingrained loyalty to his family that reminded Perceptor strongly of memories and mecha long past.

Not for the first time, it made him wonder what 'defect' those at whatever newspark facility Roadbuster had come from had found in the mech, to throw him away as they did. 

He'd have made a fine and fearsome soldier. 

Perceptor couldn't help but smile just so and he motioned for Roadbuster to sit with him as they waited for more energon to percolate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Makes vague pained authorial keening noises- 
> 
> More introductions next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

"Look, Wing - I just had a _feeling_ that -"

"Argh! Drift _no!_ Instincts and feelings aren't meant to override common sense!" Wing's nacelles flared and settled in succession as he worked to regain calm and resettle himself. "How many times have _you_ with all your _years_ informed me of how bad of an idea it was to get involved with those who could be hurt by our public positions?! Prime has enough trouble trying to fight off those sparkeaters that call themselves senators with this sort of thing already!"

Drift looked up at him with all the innocence of a newspark and sheepishness of a novice caught out for a greenhorn's mistake.

"To be fair, Wing, you and others got involved with _me._ I'm just wanting to pay along the favor."

Lustrous white armor settled, and Wing regarded Drift far more seriously for an instant before sitting down across from Drift, coming down from scolding to his level with a far softer expression.

"Drift, that was a _long_ time ago - during war time. And as much as I hate to sound like one of those rust-buckets sitting on their disdainful afts that our Prime is trying to knock over; things aren't like they used to be."

That statement was irrefutable, Drift wouldn't be able to deny it. He was at the height of his performance and maintenance now, but he'd appear much more like those withering mecha twenty times his age had he not been taken in by the Circle when he was.

Or worse, if he had made it at all.

He owed not just the honing of his natural skills and the quelling of his young mech's blood-lust to the Knights, his Amica-in-court, but his very life.

The end of the age of warlords and the start of the so-called golden age had not been so kind to allow many other uppity young bots like him to keep their lives. His apprenticeship in the Circle was the only thing that kept his shiny aft off the racetracks and out of the rich-mechs' berthing, those most zealous nobles had told him, so long ago.

As a younger mech, he'd scoffed at them openly, and taken his ritual exception from the taxonomy for granted... up until he became witness to those treated by such troubling ideologies.

He gave a faux wilt. "...You'd not have been so keen to let those three get away, on first meeting"

Wing's brow gave just that much of a furrow. "...Three?" He sounded like he thought Drift was having him on, trying a sneaky cheat at a game. "I thought you only were accosted by one microscope?" He crossed his arms over his chest, back in interrogation mode.

"Well, I _could_ be mistaken, but..." his 'but' extended out until Wing's expression shifted. " I'm more than certain he had a couple of younglings with him - wheezy venting and all - and I'd bet my morning refuel for a _week_ that they had been dumped in the trash."

That was the unfortunate reality about life in a place like Dead End, why Ratchet's charity was so important in turn. Basic maintenance was basically trying to stay alive. His direct commander, a jet of no insignificant size, would sound like a stealth vehicle next to many of those mecha.

Wing's stern expression wavered before breaking, along with his posture. "Fine, what're you scheming?"

Drift's grin in reply was radiant.

* * *

  
 For a while, tense days ticked on with no more signs of trouble than was the norm, and slowly everyone started to wind down. No news came down the vine of attacks occurring on lustrous knights or police retaliation and so once more Perceptor felt good about leaving the Wreckers' hide-out in the wee hours of the morning before Springer and Roadbuster were to be away. Like he had for the young mecha before, and had done for himself, he roused little Kup from his recharge to come along with him.

It was the unofficial trash day, and that meant the chance at fuel or useful parts. Coming anytime outside the Goldilocks zone of _just_ at daybreak meant an extra layer of danger for any involved. Too early and those picking through the best of the refuse would be more than likely armed, too late meant death for many desperate stragglers trying to pick through the leftovers.

When he was little, Springer used to talk on and on about adventure this and fighting that on their early morning scavenging trips. Each stick was a sword or a blaster he'd protect his family with, each lucky, tiny dreg of fuel would give superpowers enough to _take_ what they wanted from those who kept it out of reach.

Kup, on the other hand, wasn't prone to wander unless he knew explicitly that it was safe and so he had a constant grip on Perceptor's hand to and from home as well as any time they were under open sky. Perceptor knew perfectly well this preternatural cautiousness in someone as young as he was was thanks to the tumultuousness of his early life; one was not thrown away and recovered from the gentlest caress of Mortilus' grip without some lasting effect.

It wasn't as if _all of them_ hadn't been thrown out in some respect or another. Some of them had been born in the area or those around it, others came from some newspark facility or another and deemed unworthy for some likely menial flaw. Quite literally binned, most sparklings would soon expire from the neglect, if they didn't have the misfortune to find themselves subjected to a fate worse than death, that is.

Perceptor considered himself quite lucky in his lot; that he couldn't glean much from his first days was no huge burden. Some referencing of his batch on his first trip to The Den and the location his developing protoform had been found told the story in a few simple words. 'Perceptor of Protihex, 42 of 35' was a might prettier than 'Perceptor of the Tech Dump Next To the Smelting Nexus', even with the knowledge that he and likely about nine of his batchmates had been excess, and so tossed out. One of his first _true_ memories (not an impression or a feeling) was of blinking awake his brand new optics in the confined space of someone's cab and feeling _safe._

Kup's case was one of the more unusual ones, his... _older,_ for lack of a better term, frame model on _metallico_ so new made all of the Wreckers deeply uncomfortable when it was realized, but the location they found him in - an alley extremely well known for being one frequented by those near starving to empty spoke to implications so grave that it made Perceptor's spark constrict in it's casing to think of, so - he did his best not to dwell on it.

At present, Kup tugged impatiently on Perceptor's hand. They were in sight of the new pile of refuse and daylight had started to burn. Perceptor chuckled and scooped Kup up in his arms, picking up the pace to a light trot.

The day felt good, everything felt _right_ , as if there was a lightness restored to his spark after his last few days of turmoil. The day only got better with the pair's finds in the dumping grounds.

Juggling the sudden heady burst of good feelings and in watching out for his charge, he didn't notice the shadow taken up a few dozen paces behind them on their way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And by 'introductions', I meant introductions to the wider world we're set in. _-finger guns-_ I hope the overall picture is starting to gain some form. :3c 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to those on the server for accidentally kicking my butt into gear on this. |D


End file.
